@ Bee-Bah-Bey
2025-01-10 01:00:15
He'd fallen into a deep sleep when he felt something jolt his shoulder. "Richie, honey, you have to wake up. My boss will show up any minute and can't find you in here." Struggling to gain consciousness, he slowly peeled his eyes open and found the clock he'd remembered seeing when he lay down in a room behind the receptionist's office of Roosevelt Lodge. The kid could barely remember arriving, but fighting to stay awake after navigating the switchbacks down the western slope, he'd driven that drunkard and his truck as far as he could. He jumped out and hurried toward the light of the rustic building without knowing what to say to the maniac who'd offered him a ride from that Billings diner. Thank God she'd opened the door. It had been freezing when he knocked shortly after midnight. It appeared to be almost five in the morning. "I'm sorry honey, I know it's early, but I need this job, and he will not be happy if he sees you. You can use the trailhead to the north. It will get you to the closest highway, and you can maybe find a ride there. I would take you myself, but Okie likes me to stick around in the morning."
"Thank you, Ma'am. I really appreciate everything," the young man said, hurriedly putting on his Converse All-Stars. The two exchanged goodbyes as the lady went back to setting up. On his way out of the lodge's rear exit, he noticed a pack of Lucky Strikes sitting on a coffee table beside a copy of LIFE Magazine.
When Richie was eleven, he'd first had a cigarette on a dare from his little sister. They'd found a pack in their parent's room while playing hide and seek. After taking one and running outside with a matchbook, Sarah challenged him to smoke it. He remembered the first drag. While it was harsh, he'd watched his uncle smoke for years and once heard him sharing advice during a card game to inhale very softly at first until you got the hang of it. Uncle Joe had never meant for the lesson to ignite the habit in his nephew but had been too far gone into his bottle of Seagram's 7 to notice him listening.
Through the next few years, Richie became very smooth in taking a pack every few days from the drug store his grandfather had once owned. He'd be cautious to grab them after a larger crowd rolled through the store. The owner, an old friend of his now departed Grandpa, never noticed, and Richie would always leave the payment for them in the cash register.
The memory faded, and the reality of a Montana trailhead before sunrise refocused his concentration. Richie noticed only three cigarettes in the pack, reaching into his pocket to grab the loose change from the gas station incident. There were seven matches to work with. While he struggled to wake up, this find gave him a burst of excitement, and a smile came over his face. He dropped two nickels on the coffee stand and took the remaining pack.
Upon arriving at the trailhead, Richie buttoned his jacket in the chill morning air. It was near pitch black outside, with just enough moonlight to make out the pathway through the forest. He felt scared walking along, yet an air of confidence due to making it this far kept his steps moving forward. Richie began to wonder how far he'd walked when the rising sun put enough illumination through the treeline to make out the opening to a small parking lot adjoining a road. The morning was silent, and he began to yawn. The minimal sleep began to remind him of his exhaustion. The lady from the lodge, what was her name? She'd been so kind when he showed up in the middle of the night, still soaking wet from the melted ice picked up from the passage through the Rockies. As the events began to replay the prior evening's treacherous journey, Richie reached into his pocket to grab a smoke. He imagined his mother's gaze as he successfully ignited the first match and lit the tobacco. The moment was empowering. What were the other kids back in Ohio doing this morning? Though he couldn't ignore the dangerous risks he'd taken along the way, Richie Buckland felt genuine freedom for the first time in his life.
He sat down on a rock to enjoy his smoke and await an oncoming vehicle. Birds began to awaken, and their singing disrupted the silence in the air. His heart filled with gratitude for having dry clothes and a full canteen as he recognized how in sync he felt with the surrounding nature of Yellowstone National Park. That nice lady had even thrown a few Atomic Fireball candies in his knapsack. He still had the twenty dollars his Mom insisted he take with him, having no idea he'd intended to hitchhike to California. She'd known the entire family needed a breather after Richie's fight with his father that night. He thought about his last-second decision to punch the wall beside his father's head instead of hitting his face. That moment had been on his mind throughout this entire journey. Determined to get one last cigarette hit before giving his fingers a break from the closing heat, the birds suddenly began chirping more assertively and in greater numbers. It became alarmingly loud, then silent. As Richie started to reach toward the ground to put out the cigarette, he saw a shape emerge to the right. About twenty feet away, exiting the forest on the same side of the road, was what appeared to be a bear cub. As he took in the sight, another cub followed. Both were brown, and immediately behind them was the largest animal he'd ever seen. His parents had once taken the family to the zoo, but he'd not remembered anything like this. He sat in awe of the creature, followed by a third cub. As they began to cross the road, the large Grizzly paused and turned to look directly at him. Richie was determined to resist the instinctive surge of fear, but his body wouldn't have moved had he tried. Everything felt frozen as the gaze of the enormous animal seemed to determine Richie wasn't a threat. He didn't stare into the bear's eyes but didn't look away. After a few moments, the bears continued along their path until they were out of sight for a long time.
The sunrise of the new morning was breathtaking. After remaining seated on the rock for some time after the incident with the bears, Richie stood up. Taking a healthy drink of water from the canteen, he heard the shifting of gears in the distance. There was no need to look at the map; anywhere the next driver was heading worked. There was no way to know if Mama Grizzly would reevaluate what a human tasted like for breakfast. Richie couldn't wait to reach Sacramento and find Uncle Joe. The approaching Chevy Impala began to slow down upon seeing the teenager standing up, thumb extended.